One Little Sin Read Online Free PDF Page A

not wish to abandon your sister. And I am a very wealthy man.”
    “Aye?” There was a hint of hope and wariness in her eyes. “Well, say away, MacLachlan. What is this fine notion?”
    Alasdair shrugged innocently, and feigned his most angelic expression—the one which had never worked on Granny MacGregor. Miss Hamilton, however, was less hardened, or perhaps just desperate, for her eyes softened a bit. Good God, he was such a sham! And she looked dashed pretty when that quartzlike gaze melted.
    “What if I bought you a cottage?” he lightly proposed. “A seaside cottage, perhaps? With, of course, a nice, er, annuity. You are very young, it is true. But with a little effort, I daresay you could pass for a young widow…?”
    Miss Hamilton shook her head very firmly. “Young widows—if they are respectable—are taken in by their husband’s family,” she said, rolling the r in respectable into a near growl. “Or by their own family. No one will believe that old widow-and-cottage nonsense, MacLachlan, and well you know it.” Her voice was growing scornful again. “I’ll be thought a common lightskirt, and Sorcha will be ruined.”
    “Now, now, Miss Hamilton. Surely you overstate the matter.”
    “You know I do not,” she insisted. “Besides, Sorcha deserves a father, even a less-than-ideal one. And if she is to be thought a bastard, she might as well be the bastard of a ‘very wealthy gentleman.’ You can afford to give her everything. You can clothe her and educate her. And then she will at least have a chance at a respectable life.” Her eyes still leaking tears, she tore her hand from his, and turned away. Then, on a quiet sob, she started for the door again.
    “Really, Miss Hamilton, you cannot leave me!” he said, following her. “Think of—why, think of the child! Think of the things she’ll be exposed to under my roof! Why, I might let her play with pen-knives! I might put paregoric in her porridge! Why, I might even teach her how to count cards or—or load dice! Remember, I am a very wicked man!”
    Miss Hamilton gave him a look that would have made his cock shrivel—if it hadn’t already drawn up into a petrified nub at the beginning of this awful conversation. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare!” she hissed. “Not loaded dice! That’s a sad, sairie trick, MacLachlan.”
    Alasdair felt ashamed of the notion, for he’d never cheated in his life—well, only with other men’s wives. Which was just what had landed him in this god-awful predicament. And as much as he wished to deny the child, Miss Hamilton had a convincing air of righteous indignation. Worse still, he had the vaguest recollection of having done something very, very wicked at that ball Angus had taken him to. There was a lingering sense of guilt.
    He had always had a penchant for older, amply proportioned women—brunettes if he could get them. And apparently, he’d got himself one that Hogmanay. Christ Jesus, what had he said to that poor woman to get her to fuck him? And that’s what it had been, too, he’d no doubt. Just a quick, raw fuck. No emotion. No thought for the consequences. Oh, God! Snatches of it seemed to dance in his head. He vaguely remembered the part about the draperies. Heavy velvet ones, soft on his backside. And the musty smell of old leather. Or was that some scrap of a memory from another sin, in another time and place?
    No, the library, most likely. He’d always found empty libraries dashed tempting during balls and parties. He had probably enticed this Lady Achanalt person behind the curtains, murmured sweet lies in her ear, and promptly dropped her drawers round her ankles—probably even taken her standing up, too. It would not have been the first time for that, either.
    “MacLachlan?” Miss Hamilton’s sharp voice cut into his consciousness. “MacLachlan? Faith, man, you’re crushing my fingers.”
    He looked down to see that he’d grabbed both her hands in his again. Suddenly, it struck